“Your parents started asking too many questions when they noticed Vanessa distancing herself from her other friends, why the only person she spent time with was the new guy in town,” Luke admits. “And then one of your stepmom’s friends saw Vanessa leaving my place early in the morning on multipleoccasions. She panicked and blurted the first reasonable excuse she could think of.”
“But she could have gone to my dad and Blythe,” I say. “She could have told them what happened with Trent. They’d believeher.”
Luke holds up his hands. “I don’t know what happened there. Again, whatever Trent said really freaked her out. She thought about telling your stepmom but changed her mind. You two didn’t seem close, but to my surprise, she was actually considering talking to you about it when you came home for Winter Break…”
Only, I never did, opting to crash at Maggie’s.
An invisible clamp comes down around my chest, refusing to let my lungs expand. Or maybe I’m hyperventilating. I can’t tell. All I know is the muscles in my chest continue tightening as my heart threatens to explode.
Because Trent going after my sister like that didn’t fit his usual pattern.
At all.
After what Jase told me the other night, it’s clear he only goes after young women when he’s in an environment he can control, i.e., his house. Vanessa’s attack wasn’t about him taking advantage of a situation. She didn’t even fit his victim profile.
There was only one reason he targeted her.
Me.
To get back at me.
And she knows that.
And like the snake he is, Trent planted his venom into her, letting it fester. Vanessa and I had grown apart over the years, but the beginning of last summer had become something else entirely. She hadn’t just been distant. She treated me like I belonged in a leper colony. Then, the way Vanessa acted the second she saw me when I came home this summer…
“She’ll attract the wrong attention from the wrong people.”And she was right. I may not have run into Trent the night of Derek’s engagement party, but I inevitablydidattract his attention, in the worst possible way.
Another sickening thought rolls through me about that evening.
The reason I didn’t leave Derek’s engagement party in my car was because I had seen Trent loitering around the front entrance of the country club, and I wanted to avoid that fucker like the plague he is.
But I have a feeling Vanessa hadn’t been so lucky. Not if what my dad said was true.
Vanessa had been too freaked out to use a rideshare service to get out of there, and the only reason the valet that night had let her takemycar without the claim ticket was because she had been crying, enough so to make him uncomfortable.
And the fact that the mere smell of gasoline suddenly made her sick, or that she always leaves lights on around the house now, or that she snapped at me about leaving my bedroom window open when I wasn’t home…
I’m staggering away from Luke and Jase, my feet damn near numb beneath me. My whole body may as well be laced with novocaine, because I barely feel the slick metal of the door’s pull bar or the blast of air conditioning as I stumble inside the country club. I don’t even know how I’m seeing through the moisture building inside my eyes. Everything blurs, and entering the banquet hall only makes it worse. The lighting is much lower, and the number of people makes it next to impossible to find anyone in particular. I’m tempted to just scream out her name, but my sister’s stark white retro dress may as well be a spotlight shining down upon her.
Vanessa looks immaculate, with just the right amount of makeup and hair product to achieve the ‘50s aesthetic while still looking modern.
I should be practicing an opening of some sort, perhaps along the lines of, “You look beautiful” or even just a simple “Hi,” but my brain short circuits as I opt for tackling her with a hug.
I can’t remember the last time either of us had done this to the other, and it shows. Vanessa just stands there awkwardly with her arms pinned at her side, not making any movement to return the gesture or push me away.
If anything, she’s stunned, but the reaction quickly shifts to concern when she finally registers the fact that I’m shaking. Demanding to know what’s wrong, she finally tries to pull back from me, but I only hold her tighter.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
It’s the only thing I can say, and I just keep saying it. With every syllable, my voice grows weaker as a sob escapes me. I don’t care that we have an audience. I don’t care who overhears us. I don’t care that I probably look like a crazy person as Vanessa squirms in my hold.
I just need to let her know.
